


at what point are you willing to listen to my silence

by Ellinor



Category: Wizard101
Genre: Arguing, Autistic Meltdown, Autistic Nolan Stormgate, Confrontations, Gay tension, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nonverbal Communication, Nonverbal Episode, Swearing, Wizards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23514610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellinor/pseuds/Ellinor
Summary: Nolan pulls an all-nighter, plagued by executive dysfunction. He is confronted later by Duncan, and they have some decidedly bitchy and gay banter. An unfinished essay leads to Nolan taking refuge in Nightside, and he and Duncan meet again, and argue yet again.
Relationships: Nolan Stormgate & Duncan Grimwater
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	at what point are you willing to listen to my silence

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is one of my few NPC-centric fanfictions about wizard101! For more content find my tumblr, @save-the-spiral! All depictions of Nolan's autism largely come from my own experiences as an autistic person. If any of my phrasing is off or offensive, please correct me!

Nolan chewed at the cord of his amulet, frowning around the harsh black line pressing into his chin, the gem at the end heavy with magic. He was focused on his work, brain sluggish, at the tail end of an all-nighter spent doing his homework. While he was one of the few who genuinely enjoyed Professor Drake’s class, he had to admit that the essay lengths were ridiculous, and the obscure topics made it awful.

Nolan yawned, cord falling out of his mouth, the pendant clattering onto the table, snapping him out of his daze. He hadn’t even realized he was chewing at the cord, and he frowned down at it, before stuffing the amulet under his robe, above his t-shirt, and picked up his quill, ready to edit his work.

Instead of dipping the nib into his inkwell, he ended up toying with the quill, moving his fingers so it would wave back and forth, the plain brown owl’s feather blurring at the speed. It fell from his hand when he yawned again, stretching and rubbing at his sore wrist and hand.

In this dark corner of the library, there was no clock, just the faint ticking from the large grandfather clock by Mr. Argleston’s desk. This late at night, there was nothing else. No shuffling papers, muffled conversation, or even soft breathing. Nolan settled in at around dinner time, and he had heard only a few people come in, and they all left eventually.

Really, it was his fault after all. He had put off the essay for the week he was supposed to be working on it. But it was so infuriatingly broad, so seemingly insurmountable, that he couldn’t even find a place to start. Even with a faint idea, it wasn’t even remotely interesting. So he left it until tonight.

Nolan leaned on his arms, bright yellow sleeves muted in the dim candle light. He let his hood fall over his eyes, dark blue trim working well to allow him peace. This was supposed to be easy. He had done this same thing so many times, and had excelled so much. He just had to grab the quill, and write. There was no excuse that could translate from him just sitting here and trying for hours, ending up with nothing.

He closed his eyes, trying to organize this in his mind. Main ideas, topic sentences, theme. Just copy over the introduction and reword it for the conclusion, add in some information from the body of the essay. It’s supposed to be easy.

In the end he was in that warm nest of his arms, breathing towards his left arm so he could get fresh air between the slant of his arm and the table. It was so dark, and he was so tired. The drifting between sleep and wakefulness was simple.

Waking up to a light prod on his shoulder, however, was not as easy. With a groan, Nolan raised his head, hand already shielding his eyes from the sunlight streaming in-

With a swear, Nolan sat up straight, looking around, only to see Duncan Grimwater, Ravenwood’s resident talented necromancer, sitting across from him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Bit early for an afternoon nap, huh?” Duncan finally said.

“Early?” Nolan managed to get out, yawning and then returning to rubbing his eyes, not even fazed by his hood falling and revealing his dirty blonde hair in a bird’s nest, his undercut growing out from lack of care. 

Duncan was staring at him, face unreadable. “It’s like, one o’clock dude.” He said dryly, watching as Nolan’s eyes lit up with fear.

Nolan tensed, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to resist the urge to rip up his now useless essay. Professor Drake did not accept late work, even from his best student. Maybe especially from his best student. 

His harsh breathing filled the little alcove of bookshelves. 

“I, uh, heard that you were asleep in here.” Duncan said awkwardly. 

“So?” Nolan finally snapped out, an edge to his tone. “What do you want?” 

“Maybe I wanted to grace myself with your presence.” Duncan’s awkward pressed lips quickly twitched into a sneer. “Maybe someone decided to worry about you for probably the first time in your life.”

“Who?” Nolan asked, making a show of looking around for someone not there. If he wanted to encroach on Nolan’s sleep far past any time that would make him punctual to class, he’d have to admit to the real reason why.

“Some asshole who thought he’d try to be nice, I guess.” With that, Duncan leaned back in his chair, making a show of going on the back two legs.

“Key word ‘try’.”

“As if you’re an expert on kindness.”

“Don’t believe it exists without strings attached.” Nolan shrugged, shoulders aching in protest to sleeping slumped over on a table. 

“You don’t bring much to the table aside from being good at tests, Stormgate.” Duncan plucked one of Nolan’s quills out of its inkpot and began twirling it, regardless of the spots of ink staining the table and his fingers, his hood falling back a bit to reveal small, thin dreadlocks and an undercut.

“You don’t bring anything aside from knowing how to make Susie Gryphonbane pissed off and an obvious crush on your dead ex-professor.” Nolan snapped.

Duncan dropped the quill back on the table and let the front two legs of his chair slam on the floor. “Well then. As your fellow useless asshole wizard, I was worried about you.”

Nolan swallowed, staring at the small black onyx earrings Duncan wore so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact or acknowledge the implied question of if he was okay. “Seems like a stupid thing to do.” 

“Well, it’s obvious you don’t try it. Worrying about yourself doesn’t lead to the hot mess you are now.” Duncan smirked, still mean, but at least not going for the jugular like they had before.

“At least I’m hot for once.” 

The startled snort of laughter from Duncan made Nolan smile.

“What’s the deal, anyway?” Duncan said as his laughter died. “You’re brilliant. Spending hours perfecting an already perfect essay seems overkill, even for you. Some new kid impress Cyrus more than you?”

Nolan huffed, shoving the now crumpled and slightly drool stained essay he had slept on across the table. The few wobbly sentences were pathetic, especially in the light of day. 

“So I see I had a reason to worry at least,” Duncan read the half finished introduction before sliding the paper back. “So how long until Cyrus puts a hit on you for being a-” He cleared his throat, before starting an awful impression of the awful professor. “‘Disgrace to all beings who have ever even thought of myth magic’?” 

Nolan laughed, crumpling up the parchment and tossing it to the floor. “Don’t know when he’ll order that hit, but I hope he does it soon. The waiting’s the worst part.” 

Duncan nodded sagely. “Ah. Not your first assasination attempt via the good professor?”

“I’ve got my fake I.D.s and the summer home in Zafaria all set up for times like these.” Nolan’s seriousness was offset by his smirk, by the new light in his pale eyes.

They both shared a laugh, and Nolan began packing up his books into his bag, unwashed hair falling into his eyes as he organized the books by color, making sure to store his quills properly and cap all his inkpots.

He ran a hand through his hair, realizing that he’d have to actually take a shower again even if it was sensory hell, and glanced over to see that Duncan was still sitting there, face more expressive and open than Nolan had ever seen. This wasn’t the stormy streets of Triton Avenue, or the stuffy classrooms, where Duncan constantly picked at obvious weaknesses and strived to prove himself better. In a quiet, sunlit library alcove he was a different person.

“Still hanging around?” Nolan finally said.

“Never got any information to assuage my obviously altruistic worries.” Duncan said, staring hard in a way that made Nolan uncomfortable. 

Nolan was always uncomfortable when looking people in the eyes, though, so that was nothing new. The silence stretched on, and Nolan shifted his weight, debating how much running out of the library would be worth the trouble and inevitable temporary ban. 

“Are you okay, Stormgate?” Duncan’s voice went soft, and for a moment he might as well have been speaking some ancient language for all Nolan could comprehend it. 

Nolan felt his chest tighten, and wondered if he was going to cry. He hadn’t in months. Finally, he just shrugged, voice distant and fragile when he spoke. 

“I don’t think you want my answer to that question.” 

Duncan’s face immediately shut off, twisting into an annoyed scowl as he scooted back in his chair, the screech of the wood against wood harsh and awful to Nolan’s ears. 

“Fine.” 

Then Nolan was alone, hand gripping the strap of his bag too hard from where it pulled at his aching shoulder. He couldn’t tell where he misstepped there, and assumed it was starting the conversation in the first place. He yawned again, and stood up straight, stretching, before pulling his hood up.

Younger students walked out of his way when they crossed his path as he walked across the Commons. The dark shadows of the tunnel into Ravenwood were like a second blanket, a comfort in pavlovian, knowledge that he’d be in his safe, solitary dorm soon enough.

Then he walked out into the nice, sunlit courtyard in front of Bartleby, only to see Cyrus Drake striding out of the Myth School. The man obviously noticed him, and began walking faster.

Now was the time to run, he thought.

Turning around and racing back to the Commons was easy, deciding on a direction after that wasn’t so simple. He stumbled on the cobblestone path, then decided to go back to the library. His exhausted brain decided to treat this situation like it was life or death, so of course he made a dumb decision. 

His professor would know to look for him in the library, as easily as he’d know to look in Cyclops Lane, where his family home is. 

So, maybe that realization was what made him veer off of the path behind the waterfall of Rainbow Bridge, where everyone now knew Nightside was hidden.

Nolan knew too, of course. In theory. He knew a lot of things in theory, but found his own execution lacking. It’s the main reason why he prefered homework over quests, even if the extra credit is enough to never touch a quill again.

He had never seen the dark, dank cave with his own eyes. Or the very intimidating skull embedded into the half open door. It was his lifeline, though, so he walked quickly forward, shaking his hands to get the faint mist of water off of them. He shook his hands out more after that, letting himself stim to help with the nerves that onset him in this new environment.

Nightside was… not as scary as he thought it would be from the stories people tell. It was like a more tame version of the dark caves hiding in the other streets. There were little necromancers milling about, getting out of class. Malorn was herding them like they were a clowder of emo cats, and Marla and Penny were standing on the sidewalk, watching like one watched vaguely wild animals in a zoo. 

Then a hand was on his bicep, and Nolan was being pulled onto half wilted grass, close to the wall.

“What are you doing here?” Duncan glared at him, a real one. He wasn’t the sarcastic asshole admitting he was worried. He was back to just being an asshole.

“Drake may have forgone the hit and was approaching me with intent to kill.” Nolan said, voice monotone, not looking Duncan in the eyes, watching the crowd of necromancers as they finally lined up properly, Malorn smiling wide as he directed them all into Nightside’s own small town. Duncan pulled harder, fingers digging meanly into Nolan’s soft flesh, huffing out what a generous person might call a laugh. 

“Idiot.” Duncan muttered, loud enough so Nolan could hear it. He probably did it on purpose, there’s no point in pretending either of them are nice people. Wasn’t that the point of their library chat?

Nolan just stumbled along until they finally went into the old death school’s tower. Cobwebs populated the bookshelves more than books did, the rugs were stained and maybe moth bitten, and it smelled vaguely sweet, like someone tried to cover up a smell.

At his scrunched up nose, Duncan laughed, letting go of Nolan’s arm as they both kicked off their boots by the door. “That smell is Penny. She’s got a new pyromancer friend and is now making a lot of candles, the flowery-er the better.” 

“Not the worst hobby.” Nolan finally said, unsure how to not insult the girl, even if she wasn’t there. 

“Keeps her out of trouble.” Duncan drawled, then walked to a kitchenette. He pulled out a spotless kettle, probably the cleanest thing this building had seen in years, and began heating it up. He shrugged off his outer robe, leaving a plain grey tunic and black school slacks.

“I don’t think she could get in trouble if she tried.” Nolan was still standing by the door. 

“Don’t underestimate the lengths Marla will go to when something gets in her head.” 

“Trying so hard must be exhausting.”

“You would know, Mister I-Spent-Sixteen-Hours-In-A-Library.” 

“Says the idiot who came to see if I was okay.” 

“You still never answered my question.” Duncan turned around from his puttering around in the kitchen, and gave Nolan a Look.

“Well it’s still none of your fucking business!” Nolan found himself snapping far quicker than he typically did, voice eager to jump up and crack before slipping down into a yell that sounded far too much like an echo of his late parents’ voices.

“It isn’t?” Duncan walked closer, eyes trained on him as he pulled out two chairs at the table in the middle of the room. “What about the others?” 

Nolan snorted, leaning back against the stone wall to watch Duncan, shoulder blades resting uncomfortably against the cold stone. “What others?” 

“The other people who’ve made the unfortunate decision to give a shit about you? What, are they idiots like me? Nosy?”

“There’s no one else.” Nolan said.

“Ceren. Malorn. Penny. Artur. Fuck, even Boris for all the time he spends on the stupid newspaper, he notices you and how you look closer and closer to a ghoul every day. I’m just the only one who isn’t afraid to call you on your bullshit. You are not okay, Nolan.” 

Nolan stared, feeling himself lean more into the wall, hoping it would open up and bury him inside the stone just so he wouldn’t have to continue this conversation. Duncan was pouring hot water into mugs, and pulling out a box of teabags, dropping them in before turning back around, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Do you want tea or not?” 

Nolan didn’t even try opening his mouth, knowing from the sensation in his throat that he had gone nonverbal, the stress of the situation taking things out of his hands. Feeling weak and tired and ready for another six hour nap, he found himself sitting on the floor now. The stone wall continued to leech warmth away from his spine, the rug was even less comfortable than he thought.

As good a place as any to start crying.

Duncan seemed alarmed when he muttered. “Didn’t know you hated tea that much.” 

Nolan might’ve laughed if he wasn’t in the middle of a meltdown that stole his normally white-knuckled control over his body. While he was usually a puppeteer of his clumsy, uncooperative self, when it comes to this his strings, long thin nerves extending from his spine and the tips of his fingers and from every single hair on his head are all shaken, every plate of his body convergent or transform boundaries, tectonics doing nothing but continuing their work, manipulated by outside force into compliance until they shudder and subduct into volcanoes and trenches and ridges and wide, empty abyssal plains. The metaphor falls apart as he is, a slow shattering like ripping up the dotted lines on what will be a puzzle.  
The meticulous process of putting it back together is where Nolan often loses himself for days, skipping school just to sit in the home he grew up in and try to process and figure out how to be again, instead of this dissociative being where the world around him is too sped up and he feels like he exists five feet to the left of his body.

“-okay? Nolan? Nolan?!”

Heavy breathing rattled out of Nolan’s chest, and he has both hands on his head, pushing, trying to interlock his fingers into his hair so he doesn’t hit his own skull with clenched fingers, palms stiff and wrists aching. His knees push against his soft stomach, boots sliding a rug underfoot and rumpling it. 

Nolan meant to make an inquisitive sound for Duncan to hear but instead it devolved into humming and trying to fill his brain with something other than the shaky feeling of tensed muscles, as if he was a series of rubber bands and paperclips just waiting to snap and cause a mess. 

“Nolan? Oh I don’t know anything about healing, are you having a panic attack maybe? I really thought this was going to end with the tea and maybe some flirting- gosh, this is not how I thought any of this would go, I’m sorry.” 

Duncan continued to ramble, eventually sitting on the floor in front of Nolan, setting down a tray between them. 

Nolan’s breathing slowed, still ragged, his throat hoarse and face sticky from tears. His face hurt, he felt numb, empty again, a water glass overfilled by clumsy hands. Eventually he was reaching out, mind still distant from body, and awkward fingers fumbled for the handle of the blue speckled mug, wrist weak enough that he grabbed it with his other hand as well. The heat from the tea sunk deep into his chest when he brought it closer, and he closed his eyes, trying to not dwell on anything but the tea.

Duncan made a cut off sound, and when Nolan opened his eyes, Duncan’s mouth was slightly open, face twisted by confusion. “Are you… okay? There’s a couch upstairs you can crash on, Nolan.” 

Nolan just nodded, sipping the tea, now lukewarm. 

Duncan set down his own mug and leaned back on his hands, looking at Nolan like he’d never seen him before. 

“Okay then. We don’t… have to talk if you don’t wanna. But we can. Talking to you is nice, Nolan. I’d hate if-” Duncan looked to the side, flushing slightly, “If you weren’t there, y’know. You’re like the rest of us, a fixture of Ravenwood or whatever. But I’d also like to be your friend, I mean, we’d all like that.” 

Nolan watched how Duncan’s face, soft without it’s usual anger or derision, twitched into a smile. 

“We really all do care. Penny wants to know your favorite color and scent for a candle. Marla wants to study history with you to see if it’s different in the myth school. I want…” Duncan’s voice cracks with emotion, “I just want a friend, one who can keep up when I want to bitch about stuff, one who doesn’t care if I’m nice or not.”

Nolan drained the rest of his tea, gently leaving the mug on the tray, before shifting to stretch his legs out, still silent as he stood, suddenly feeling a lot less small. He still wanted to hide away from the world, wished he was back in his dorm where he controlled everything and knew every object and how to be most comfortable, but right now he would settle for the cold stone walls and the pins and needles sensation in his legs. 

He then pointed upwards and cocked his head, face blank and eyes heavy. 

Duncan got up hastily when he noticed, setting their tray onto an empty bookshelf. “The couch upstairs?”

Nolan nodded, feeling a headache pulse behind his eyes, crawling in the back of his skull. 

“I’ve got some blankets in the cupboard- feel free to head upstairs and get comfortable, it’s clean and usually just for a reading area.” Duncan crossed the room, opening a large armoire.

Nolan’s socked feet began to ache noticeably once he began ascending the stairs. He supposed at least a full day of wearing boots would do that to, and there wasn’t much else to be done. Without realizing, he trailed a hand against the stone wall, palm flat, ready to catch himself if he fell. It was instinct from climbing up the stairs to his dorm for years. 

The room at the top of the death tower was a bit dreary. Muted light from a single window gazing over the small opening street of Nightside flooded a slice of the room, leaving the door and the couch on the opposite wall in almost complete darkness. The patchy rugs and mismatched chairs were comfortable looking, and obviously lived in. Though a few of the shadowy diagrams and realistic portraits left something to be desired.

With clumsy hands, Nolan dragged his robe off, crossing the room. He tossed it on the couch, by the pillow furthest from the window. Sitting down, he sighed at how comfortable even this lumpy couch was. He was already glad he managed to get himself together enough to get off of the floor, and this was better already.

“Oh, it’s dark in here.” Duncan’s voice echoed against the stone walls. 

Nolan startled, a choked gasp leaving him. 

“Sorry! Sorry. Want me to light a candle or something? We’ve got plenty.” Duncan’s arms were full of several quilts, a slightly moth eaten comforter, and an array of strangely shaped knitted blankets.

Nolan shook his head, and stood, grabbing a few of the quilts and the comforter. A sudden sense of insecurity came from him realizing he was in simple black slacks and a white t-shirt, slightly stained with ink, but his exhaustion caught up to him.

“The knitted ones are uh- the death school’s attempt at starting a knitting circle? Please don’t tell anyone.” 

At Duncan’s almost desperate tone, Nolan managed a smirk, eyebrow raised. 

Duncan snorted. “Well. Tell whoever you want. As long as it doesn’t get traced back to me.”

Nolan shrugged, expression specifically blank just to watch Duncan’s half smile become a bit worried. It was then that Nolan began swaying on his feet trying to set up his ‘bed’, vision dimming slightly.

“Woah there. Woah-” Duncan stepped forward, tossing the knitted disasters behind him to steady Nolan. “I got you, it’s fine.” He muttered, warm breath puffing against Nolan’s cheek, more a reassurance to himself than anything else.

Nolan stood for a moment, yawning while Duncan set out the comforter as something to lie on, and guided Nolan to sit down. Nolan flopped against the pillow, murmuring.

“What was that?” Duncan said quietly, leaning in.

Nolan grumbled, half asleep, and threw a quilt over himself before turning over. “G’night, Duncan.”

Duncan’s eyes widened and he backed up. He walked quietly across the room, only allowing himself to look back when he reached the doorway.

The only visible part of Nolan was his hair, the rest a badly hidden lump of a conjurer. Soft snoring echoed slightly in the room, and Duncan found himself smiling, a hand reaching up to his mouth as he leaned against the stone wall for a moment.

“Goodnight, Nolan.” He finally said, and turned to walk downstairs, and let his new friend rest.


End file.
